Flight
by Mycroft R Holmes
Summary: Tim has been watching Robin for years. And he knows something no one else does. (FTM!Dick and FTM!Tim for good measure. Warnings for attempted suicide and overly poetic language.)


Note: Written for Trans* Fic Fest for prompt 49, "Being a trans* superhero kind of sucks- the spandex costumes leave nothing to the imagination." I strayed from the prompt a touch.

Important background info: according to the continuity I'm running from, Tim (Robin III) first met Dick (Robin I) when Dick was performing in the circus, prior to becoming Robin. Tim recognized one of his moves as Robin and thus figured out his secret identity. He spent the next several years stalking Batman and Robin, photographing them from the shadows.

* * *

.

* * *

There are people in Gotham who call themselves 'bird-watchers' who do not, strictly speaking, watch birds. However much the resident superheroes may wish to be thought legend, some of the hundreds of people saved in dark alleyways will inevitably wonder about the shadows that saved them.

* * *

Robin was perfect. Robin could fly. Robin was free.

* * *

These citizens of Gotham have dedicated themselves to watching their city's watchmen. They gather in dark corners of the internet and somewhat brighter corners of Starbucks to discuss their silent protectors. They share sightings of moving shadows and whispers of another minor criminal put away with more bruises than the police would likely dare and, if they're very lucky, links to online auctions of unusual weapons, grappling hooks, and similar leavings of their peculiar prey.

* * *

Snow falls soft in starlight. Sometimes, it seems like it flies, too.

* * *

The bird-watchers keep careful account of their sightings. Batman: check. Robin: check. Batgirl: check. They meet difficulty as Robin begins to change. The veteran watchers, always to be found in the centres of clusters of eager younglings desperate for second-hand glimpses of the heroes of times past, say there have been six Robins altogether. Four male and two female. Perhaps it is just as well that Timothy Drake never knew he was not the only one with his eyes tilted towards the heavens: they are wrong.

* * *

Hard-won breath floats in the night air. Each cloud set free has to struggle that much harder to escape.

* * *

Timothy Drake was what the other watchers would have called 'solo'. He lived his life always thinking he was alone in his fascination with the dark angels and their bright companions. He was precocious; those in the trade would have passed him about with pride, showing him off as a fine demonstration of the kind of young mind needed to really bring watching into the mainstream. He was younger than most and became better than any of them. After all, how many bird-watchers can say they have flown with the birds?

* * *

Robin hasn't flown in a long time.

* * *

Tim is the only watcher who knows there has only ever been one female Robin. He saw the same things they saw: a young boy, bright, happy, then, later, someone in the same suit, with the same short hair (they almost always have the same hair), but with chest and hips pressing against the tight-cut fabric, and a sullen scowl between the puns. Then, the first break between Robins; then, the first sighting of Nightwing. Male, primary habitat Bludhaven; migratory. Everyone figures out, eventually, that that first little boy became Nightwing. Tim's the only one who knows that all three of them are the same.

* * *

Bright-lit snowflakes lazily drift down into the darkness below the edge.

* * *

They were watching the shadow, seeing the bright plumage of its follower only as a light to track it by. Tim watched the light for its own sake. He took every ray to guide him, because, under the bright lights of a circus, long ago, he had seen hope. He had seen someone escape his body and fly free through the air. He saw it in the nights to follow, for years, and it saw him through the darker nights that followed him. When he felt his own body dragging him down, trapping him into a life he never wanted, he thought of another, who fought above it.

* * *

Breath rises slowly, less, forced into the cold air above the abyss.

* * *

He cried and screamed when he saw the light dim. The one who had shown him that he didn't have to submit, that he could rise above his birth, had given in. He knew it could not have been by choice; he spent weeks planning revenge on the shadow that had done this to his Robin, the shadow once saviour, now oppressor. The red-covered chest that had been bound to be free was now bound by its freedom, and Tim looked at his own chest - starting to grow heavy all ready - and almost wished he'd never seen him to begin with.

* * *

Robin falls.

* * *

Robin had stopped flying months ago. Tim had lost hope. He was watching for one last night before giving up forever, forgetting the hobby that had buoyed his life for so long. He had come to the roof where he had last seen his own Robin. Robin as he should have been. He curled into his blanket and shivered as snow began to fall, but stayed, watching the flakes gather on the flannel, unwilling to leave. His head drooping, he nearly missed it. A flash of yellow on the far corner of the roof, then a red spot hovering against the black, coming closer until it stopped barely fifteen feet from him, resolving into a shape he knows better than his own. Robin is himself again, but Tim is old enough, now, to know about binding, and he can recognise the signs of someone binding too tightly with something they shouldn't. He can see the deep indents where the binding digs into Robin's back and hear the effort in each breath. He sits, silent, still. He hasn't ever been so close before. Robin sits just as still on the edge, watching the snow waft down, out of the flickering gleam of the solitary lightbulb by the access door and into the darkness. Tim can see it coming even before Robin throws himself out into the empty black.

* * *

The snow seems to rise as Robin plummets past it. He feels weightless.

* * *

Tim bursts forward, leaps over the precipice, and feels for a moment like he could fly forever. Then the wind starts to rush past him and he shifts into a dive, getting closer and closer to the bright blur below him, and he feels a sharp impact as he hits it. He wraps his arms around and hugs harder than he ever has in his life before a jerk yanks him out of free-fall, cries out in pain as the harness around his hips and chest catches, pulls him back. They are barely five feet over a snowdrift and he releases the weight in his grip before twisting to work the decel line, slowly lowering himself down by Robin. Robin stares up at him, breathing more and more quickly as the panic of the fall fights against the bandages on his chest, and Tim pulls open the vest, slices through the binding with one of Robin's own throwing stars, and covers him again. Takes off his own jacket and lays it over Robin.

* * *

A desperate inhalation is followed by a deep sigh that sends vapour wafting up into neon red light.

* * *

Tim looks up, at the distant roof, and purses his lips. Back down at Robin, whose eyes are still glazed. Tim stands and presses a button on the line, sending him shooting into the air, bounces off the wall with his legs, and with a swoop and a flip - of which he is later very proud - lands on the carved stone far above the street where Robin is lying. He detaches his safety line - bought from eBay with money his parents will never bother to miss - snatches up his bag and blanket, and leaps three steps at a time down the fire escape. Back kneeling at Robin's side, he retrieves his jacket in favour of wrapping Robin in the blanket and digs through his backpack. He leaves the objects of his search with a scribbled note on the snow and bolts off into the darkness.

That was not the only note left that night. The other was found on the Batmobile, and had nothing but an address and two words: _Help him_.

It can now be found in Wayne Manor next to the message that was left in the snow, both carefully preserved.

_This is a binder. It's too big for me. You can have it._  
_He can't keep you from flying._  
_You are not alone._

* * *

Nightwing can fly.

* * *

.

* * *

End Note: Technically, there have been three female Robins: Stephanie Brown, Carrie Kelley, and Helena Wayne. Only Stephanie has worn the cape in primary continuity, however, so I stand by my count. Though an argument could be made for Helena. Comics continuity is confusing and discontinuous.

PSA: Tim's response to Dick's suicide attempt was not ideal. Running off and leaving someone who's just jumped off a roof completely alone is not a good idea. Tim is a messed-up kid who has just had an up-close emotionally confusing encounter with his hero and isn't thinking straight. Do not use his actions as a model.


End file.
